


All the Light That's Brought Me Here

by stardropdream



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bottom Keith (Voltron), Consentacles, Cuddling & Snuggling, Double Penetration, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Season 8 Doesn't Exist, Spitroasting, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles, The Astral Plane, Threesome - M/M/M, Top Shiro (Voltron), Zero-gravity sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:48:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: The war is over, but Keith is still dealing with his guilt over his failure to save the clone. But Shiro insists that Keith didn't fail. And he knows how to prove it to Keith.(Or: Shiro brings Keith to the astral plane to talk to him— to both of "him".)
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 258





	All the Light That's Brought Me Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [allrealities](https://archiveofourown.org/users/allrealities/gifts).



> Request fic written for [Cy](https://twitter.com/cyborgtopus), who requested Keith and Shiro(x2) getting it on in the astral plane, with zero gravity sex + tentacles. 
> 
> To clarify on the threesome tag: There are two Shiro in this fic (spoilers) but they're not differentiated as "clone" and "original." Shiro explains it, haha. 
> 
> HAPPY NEW YEAR, HAVE SOME TENTACLES. 
> 
> Thank you to [Meg](https://twitter.com/kedawen) for reading this over for me!  
> And thank you to [JL](https://twitter.com/jlarinda2) and [Ana](https://twitter.com/shiningwills), who helped me brainstorm!

After the official declaration of universal peacetime, two months into the war being well and truly behind them, Keith wakes up with a rattled curse and a thundering rabbit heartbeat. He bolts up in bed with a sharp, strangled cry that pierces the late-night dark. 

He immediately curls into himself, not even flinching when Shiro wakes beside him and automatically reaches for Keith. Shiro’s arms are sure around him, his skin sleep-warm and the metal of his Altean hand warmer still from its internal processing. Keith sinks into Shiro’s embrace, trying to breathe. 

“Keith,” Shiro whispers, comforting and beseeching. It’s the fourth time this week that Keith’s woken up from a nightmare. 

“Sorry,” Keith whimpers and turns his head, pressing his face into the crook of Shiro’s neck, seeking the comfort and warmth of his body, of the living, breathing proof that the man he loves is there beside him. 

Shiro rubs his palms up Keith’s back, following the bumps of his spine. Goosebumps rise in their wake, but Keith just squirms closer. He wishes he could hold Shiro tighter than this. He wishes there were a way for him to just be _closer_. 

“Same dream,” Keith mutters and doesn’t elaborate. He hasn’t really given Shiro the details on this encroaching, insistent dream— it’s always too fresh and yet always old news. 

They’ve been running and running and running. It makes sense to Keith that now that they’ve finally _stopped_ , now that they’ve won and everyone is alive and together and free, that his brain would process all the things they’ve faced and spit them back out as horrible nightmares. 

His dream is always the same. Hanging off the edge of a cloning facility, gripping Shiro by the wrist. Shiro waking up long enough to tilt his head up to look at Keith and say, _Just let go, Keith. Save yourself._

And every time, Keith wants to refuse— but he fucks up. His grip loosens, his hand slips, and Shiro falls away, plummeting into the murk of space. Lost to Keith forever. 

That, or it’s dragging Shiro out of Black and shoving him into his body, killing the clone’s consciousness, replacing it, shoving it out like it’s unwelcome, like it isn’t someone precious and someone that Keith loves, as if it isn’t _Shiro_. 

No, in the end, Keith knows he still has a lot to process when it comes to his boyfriend being cloned. He knows that Shiro must still be processing it, too, even if they’ve never acknowledged it. They’ve never really talked about it at all— there was never really any time until now. 

And now that Keith can actually _enjoy_ being with Shiro, just lying in his arms and sleeping at night, even that’s robbed from him. 

Keith pulls himself from Shiro’s gentle hold to scrub a hand over his face, trying to rub away the betraying tears before Shiro notices. 

But it’s Shiro. Of course he notices. He cups Keith’s face, thumbs swiping gently across his cheeks, brushing aside the tears that spill from his clenched-shut eyes. 

“Fuck,” Keith mutters. 

“It’s okay, baby,” Shiro answers. When Keith opens his eyes, Shiro’s smiling at him— gentle and sympathetic, but worried. 

That’s always been Shiro’s way— ever since their first kiss, really, the night before the Kerberos launch when Keith tugged him down by his collar and hissed against his mouth, _I’ll be here when you get back, so you better come back,_ and Shiro had gasped and clung to Keith. Shiro’s always been like that— always holding Keith, comforting, but never holding him down. He always holds him like he is precious, but never like he is fragile. 

Over the years of fighting with Voltron, it’d been like that, too— how gently Shiro held him after his Trials, how he’d sobbed into Keith’s shoulder after Keith and Black found him wasting away in a stolen Galra fighter jet. After their fight at the clone facility, too, spooning Shiro through the night as they traveled in the Black Lion, then cuddling to him in the Captain’s quarters of the Atlas. 

Shiro has always been Shiro, always wanting to take care of Keith even as Keith tries (and fails, fuck how he fails) to take care of Shiro in turn. 

Keith makes a horrible whimpering sound that he _hates_ and Shiro coos at him, soothingly, leaning in now to kiss away his tears— pressing his mouth soft against Keith’s cheeks, then his forehead, then his mouth. Each touch feels like a spark beneath Keith’s skin, like he might ripple apart right there in Shiro’s hands. 

Keith sniffles and kisses him back, feeling embarrassed by his reaction. When Shiro draws away from their touch, Keith ducks his head to hide how his eyes are still welling up. 

“Do you want to tell me about it?” Shiro asks and in this, too, he is gentle. 

Keith shakes his head; he knows it’ll help, and he knows it makes him a hypocrite, considering how many times he’s invited Shiro to talk about _his_ nightmares. Keith sucks down a deep, gulping breath, blinks his eyes clear, and steadies himself. Only once he’s sure he’s fine does he look back up at Shiro.

He cups Shiro’s face without thinking about it, his touch light, his thumb ghosting across Shiro’s thinned lips. It makes Shiro’s expression relax, though still worried but hinting at his unbearable fondness for Keith. It never fails to make Keith’s shoulders ease, anyway— the way Shiro looks at him, like he’s dear, like he’s everything. 

“Sweetheart,” Shiro murmurs, not scolding or begging, but there— comforting, his voice soothing. 

Keith sighs. “I just… Yeah.” 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees and then reaches for him. 

He strokes his hands over Keith, petting him. Keith grunts and flops into Shiro’s chest, nuzzling into the hollow of Shiro’s throat. Shiro makes a low humming sound, vibrating up his chest, and curls his arms tighter around Keith, cradling him close. 

Keith’s fingertips splay across Shiro’s chest, feeling his heartbeat, the steady pulse of it beneath his palm. 

“I’m just… glad you’re alive,” Keith whispers, voice hitching on the last word. It’s not the first time he’s said as much and he knows it won’t be the last, either. 

Shiro hums, nuzzling into Keith’s hair, his mouth ghosting his temple. “Yeah, baby. You saved me.” 

Keith’s laugh is bitter, bubbling out of him before he can stop it. It makes him want to cringe when Shiro makes another soft humming sound in response, distressed and confused. He draws back and Keith knows he’s trying to get Keith to look at him. 

“What is it?” 

Keith hangs his head, avoiding eye contact. “Well. Saved part of you, at least.”

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, fingers tracing up his spine and over the back of his neck, tangling up in his hair. He angles Keith’s head back so he’ll look up at him, although Keith wants to shy away from the gaze, shrinking in Shiro’s hold. “Keith,” Shiro says again. “What do you mean?” 

Keith isn’t sure how to answer the question. He never wants to lie to Shiro, but the truth is that he’s never really acknowledged this. They’ve never really talked about it. It’s a little difficult to pull his boyfriend aside and talk about the deep, painful, twisting guilt swirling in his gut, knowing that despite all his best efforts, he _didn’t_ save Shiro. That Shiro was lying there, dying, Haggar’s control swept away from him— and instead Allura just replaced him with Shiro’s consciousness from the Black Lion. 

It’s Keith’s fault. He should have been better. He should have done better. He should have protected Shiro. 

Keith knows beyond a doubt that he was born to be with Shiro, to protect him. And he failed that. 

“I— I killed him,” Keith gasps out. The words pulse out of him and he can’t call them back again. 

Somehow, putting voice to it makes it so much worse. 

He’s never said it out loud before and it _hurts._

Shiro frowns at him. “Who?”

“You!” Keith sucks in a sharp breath as soon as he says it. He’s never said any of this aloud before, never let himself express it, but as he says it, he knows that it’s true. He wants to start crying, feeling the urge welling up in the backs of his eyes.

Shiro looks puzzled though. “What do you—” 

“You. The clone.” Keith averts his eyes, unable to look at Shiro as he says it. “You— I was, at the clone facility, I— I _saved_ you but then in the end I just let... I could have thought of another way to save you both—” 

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, cupping his face. Keith still can’t look at him, eyes averted. Softer this time, Shiro says imploringly: “Keith.”

But that just makes the tears come now, fully. Keith clenches his eyes shut and feels the sting of them, how they mat up his eyelashes and spill down his cheeks. He shudders again, sniffling and letting out a pathetic little whimper. 

“ _I let you die,_ ” Keith gasps, the guilt crushing down around him now that he’s put voice to it. It’s too much. “I was so worried about getting you out of Black that I didn’t— by the time I even considered what it’d mean—” 

He can’t finish the thought. He tries to shrug out of Shiro’s hold, tries to retreat out of their bed. But Shiro refuses to let him go. When Keith dares to glance at him, Shiro looks thunderstruck— his eyes wide, his mouth open in shock. 

Keith’s not sure if he can stomach watching the disgust roll through Shiro’s expression, isn’t sure if he’ll be strong enough to process Shiro resenting him or blaming him or being disgusted by Keith’s profound selfishness. 

His guilt and his regret untether him. He doesn’t know what to do. 

But Shiro, of course, does none of those things. Instead, Shiro makes a soft, mournful sound. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. “I thought you _knew._ ”

“Knew what?” Keith mutters, distressed. 

Shiro smooths back Keith’s hair, letting it curl gently through the large, solid Altean fingers, cradling Keith’s skull easily. Shiro smiles, eyes soft. But Keith can’t possibly return the smile— can’t possibly find any joy or light or reassurance, not even in Shiro’s presence. He knows Shiro’s just trying to make him feel better, but the truth is that Keith _failed_. Utterly. 

“I’m still here,” Shiro tells him. 

Tears well up in Keith’s eyes anew, obscuring his vision. He shakes his head. “I know _you_ are, but, I just— what I did—”

“Keith,” Shiro interrupts gently, taking Keith’s hand with his free one, tangling their fingers together. “Sweetheart. You didn’t kill me. You didn’t let me die.” 

Keith wants to protest. He wants to throw himself at Shiro’s feet and beg for forgiveness. But how can he when Shiro doesn’t think that Keith’s done anything wrong? Keith knows what he’s done, and it’s been haunting him since the moment Shiro woke up again and smiled up at Keith, expression gentle, fond, so reverent. _You saved me—_

_We saved each other._

Keith’s confusion and distress must be too clear, undisguised on his face, because Shiro breathes out a little. 

“I’m… Hm. I’m not sure how to explain this.”

“Explain what?” 

“I really thought you knew,” Shiro says, and his smile fades— replaced, instead, with something like his own regret. Keith nearly flinches, although he knows that the dissatisfaction could never be directed at Keith, only at Shiro to himself. “When we never talked about it—” 

“Yes! We never talked about it!” Keith interrupts, agreeing, and curls into himself. He hikes his legs up and buries his face into his knees, hiding from Shiro. 

Shiro rubs his back soothingly. Keith doesn’t have the strength or desire to shrug him off, selfishly craving Shiro’s presence, his reassurance, proof that he doesn’t secretly hate Keith for what he’s done. 

“I’m so sorry, Keith,” Shiro murmurs. “If I’d known you were carrying this…” He pauses, breathing out. “I’m still here, Keith. And me-from-before is, too, I guess you could say?”

Keith doesn’t know how to process those words. They skim over the edge of his mind and don’t quite settle. He pulls his face up from his knees to stare at Shiro, uncertain what to make of all this, waiting for the moment when Shiro finally understands what Keith’s saying— for the moment when he looks at Keith in disgust, shoving him away, hating him. 

“Oh, Keith,” Shiro murmurs, his expression turning more and more distressed. He looks stricken, his hold on Keith impossibly gentle, but unrelenting— not letting Keith get away. “Baby, have you been— how long have you been thinking about this?”

Keith sniffles and looks away. It’s taking all his strength not to just shove himself out of their bed and tumble out of their shared room, darting out into the Atlas hallways and never coming back again. But Keith’s never been a coward, in the end. He won’t run away. He’ll never run away from Shiro again. 

He has to accept responsibility for his own actions, for what it is he’s done to Shiro— to all of Shiro. 

He ruined something. He stole something that wasn’t his. 

“You should hate me for what I’ve done.” 

Shiro makes another soft sound, squeezing Keith’s hand tight. “Keith,” he says seriously. “I could never hate you. _Never._ ”

“But I—” 

“You _saved_ me,” Shiro tells him again. He takes up Keith’s hand, pressing it against his heart, letting Keith feel the steady beat of his heart. “You saved all of me.” 

“Shiro…” 

Keith tips his face up, feeling distressed and ugly and horrible. Shiro makes another soft sound and leans in, pressing a kiss to Keith’s lips. Keith whimpers and kisses him back, trying to focus on the steady weight of Shiro, of the beat of his heart, the way he presses his chest against Keith’s hand, the soft slide of his mouth against his, the ghost of his breath against Keith’s mouth, his nose smushing up against his cheek. Human, alive, here. Achingly his. 

The love of his life. 

Shiro draws back too soon. Keith nearly chases after him, but Shiro stills him by pressing his forehead to Keith’s, their noses brushing. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. 

Keith makes a soft sound of acknowledgement. 

“How can I prove to you that it’s okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Keith confesses. “I can’t stop thinking about it. I think about it all the time, dream about it every night… Just that you’re— that I—” He chokes off, overwhelmed, anxiety squeezing the air from his lungs. “It’s… it’s all I see when I close my eyes. How I just— I failed.” 

Shiro looks stricken, his eyes openly misty in the dark of their bedroom, the light from his Altean arm casting him in an eerie glow. “You didn’t,” he whispers, insistent. “Keith, please, you _didn’t._ ” 

Keith shakes his head. He feels selfish again when he reaches for Shiro, when he buries his face against Shiro’s neck and breathes him in, reassuring himself that he’s here, that he’s alive. Shiro’s hold on him is immediate, sure and safe. Keith wants to melt into him. Keith wants to disappear, would throw himself off the edge of any cliff if it meant protecting Shiro, if it meant repairing everything he’s done. 

Shiro nuzzles into his hair, his mouth ghosting across the shell of Keith’s ear. He makes a soft sound, thoughtful and weighted. He stills against Keith and it just makes Keith cling harder. He’s used to this from Shiro— how sometimes it feels like he’s retreating inside himself, like he might close his eyes and never wake again. 

They sit there in a silence that stretches so long and so still that Keith feels like the glassy surface of a lake— like one wrong move will send him frothing into ripples. Keith keeps trying to just absorb into Shiro’s skin. Shiro keeps holding him, slowly rubbing his palms over Keith’s back, trying to get him to relax. Keith can only manage the slightest sag of his shoulders but not much else. 

Finally, Shiro draws away from him. Keith nearly clings, nearly forces himself to stay like that. But with a deep breath, he retreats, peering up into Shiro’s eyes. 

Shiro still looks at him the way he always does— soft and like Keith is the universe itself. His smile is sweet, steadier now, like he’s made a decision. Keith feels himself brace for whatever that might be. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs. He takes up Keith’s hands in both of his, squeezing. “I can show you. Will you let me?” 

“What?” 

“Do you trust me, beautiful?” 

An absurd question. It must show on Keith’s face because Shiro tries, and fails, to disguise his smile. But, still, Keith answers, “With my life. You know that.” 

Shiro squeezes his hands. “Then… close your eyes. Come with me.” 

“Where?” Keith asks, already closing his eyes. The world bathes itself in darkness, but Shiro’s touch is an anchoring pull. He can never be lost if Shiro is there with him, guiding him. Keith holds Shiro’s hands and doesn’t let go. 

“Follow my voice,” Shiro whispers, voice soft. “Trust me and I’ll take you where we need to go.” He speaks in a low murmur, almost captivating, almost like a spell. Keith lets his mind relax and open, lets Shiro’s voice guide him. 

Keith feels like he’s falling. Shiro doesn’t stop holding his hands, doesn’t stop calling to him, but it feels like slowly submerging into water, the world falling away beneath his feet. Soon all Keith can feel is the touch of Shiro’s hands, his voice soft as velvet against his skin. The feeling of the air around them disappears from his lungs, although he feels no fear of choking. The feeling of the bed beneath them disappears, the warmth and the chill of Shiro’s presence and the cool Atlas air. There’s nothing but Shiro.

“You can open your eyes,” Shiro murmurs to him, voice warm as honey. 

Keith blinks his eyes open. He’s still holding Shiro’s hands, but now there are two Shiro before him, one holding his right hand and the other holding his left. Keith doesn’t quite startle, but as he takes in the new surroundings, he recognizes the long expanse of _nothingness_ , all cool reflective ground and twinkling, distant stars, a yawning black hole in the distance obscuring all else. 

The astral plane. 

“Shiro?” Keith asks, looking between the two of them— mirror images. They look exactly the same, side-by-side. Same warm smile, same soft grey eyes, same white hair dusting their foreheads, dark brows and scar across the nose. 

The thought seems to occur to them, too— that it’s a mirror image. They glance at one another, frowning, moving in tandem like a reflection follows the looker across a mirror. There’s a beat of silence. 

“I like the white hair,” one decides. 

“Me too, obviously. But fine,” the other answers with a sigh. That Shiro closes his eyes and, right there in front of a very startled Keith, transforms himself— black hair bleeding across the crown of his head like a veil and the locks growing, curling around his ears and longer, settling just past his shoulders. 

“Long?” the white-haired Shiro asks, as if amused. “Really?” 

Shiro shrugs with a small smile, brushing the hair and his longer bangs out of his eyes. He looks at Keith, then, and his eyes soften when he says, “Keith likes it this way.” 

Keith startles at the words. They’re true, after all. He remembers crawling into Shiro’s bed, that night just before he cut it to go see the rest of the team, straddling Shiro’s lap and whispering into his ear that he was handsome, that he was beautiful, that he was everything. 

_I like it, too,_ Shiro admitted at the time, sighing. _But I should probably cut it for ease… and I think everyone else will be grateful for the consistency._

Keith remembers pressing kisses over Shiro’s face, trying to banish the darkness from his eyes, what the long hair meant in the grand scheme— escaping, running, unsure if he’d find his way to Keith again. He’d helped Shiro cut his hair in his bathroom and cut too short, leaving him with the tiniest tuft of his white bangs. 

_It’s cute,_ he’d told Keith when Keith apologized for the mistake. 

“There are two of you,” Keith whispers now, sounding stupid for putting voice to the obvious. 

But there _are_ two Shiro in front of him. He thinks of the rattling of his nightmares inside his skull, and thinks he knows what it is that Shiro’s trying to do— but can’t figure out _how._ He hates to tear his eyes away from Shiro but he does, looking around them.

It’s the astral plane, yes. Keith remembers it well from diving into Black’s consciousness, searching for Shiro, called there by his voice. He swallows down. It occurs to him that maybe he should be afraid, that maybe he should be worried about what this all means— how strange it is to be standing here with Shiro, wearing his loose pajama pants and one of Shiro’s shirts, standing before two versions of Shiro. 

“You’re—” Keith begins and stops. “Shiro?” 

“I am,” the two Shiro both say at the same time. Under normal circumstances, Keith knows they’d make a joke about speaking in tandem like that. Because Shiro would make a joke like that, wouldn’t he? 

But Keith’s distress must be too obvious to encourage any jokes. The two Shiro move to Keith, thankfully not moving in eerie synchronicity. They go to Keith together, flanking him. One warm metal arm— Galra, not Altean— curls around Keith’s waist and it feels so anchoring, just like Keith remembers it felt like to lean back against Shiro’s lean chest, held securely by Shiro’s hold. The floating, disconnected Altean arm touches his back, fingers splayed like a star against his spine. Maybe they’re holding him like this because they think Keith’s about to collapse. Maybe Keith _is_ about to collapse. He can’t be sure. 

_I can show you. Will you let me?_ Shiro had asked before drawing him in here. Understanding tickles through Keith’s mind, settling into something more cohesive. Keith blinks a few times, trying to focus. 

“You’re both here,” Keith realizes. ‘You’re—” 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs, the one with white hair and his Altean hand, squeezing Keith’s where he still holds him. “I’m still me. We— it’s not quite ‘we’, really just ‘I’. But, we’re both still here. Both versions of us.”

“I didn’t die,” the other Shiro agrees, squeezing his arm around Keith’s waist. 

“You’re… the clone?” Keith asks, brow furrowing. 

“No,” he answers, shaking his head. “Not really.” He closes his eyes and his hair pales into a full length of silver. Keith blinks a few times and when he turns his head, the Shiro who was once the white-haired Shiro is now the long-haired Shiro, like the two have seamlessly swapped places in just the blink of an eye.

“I’m as much the clone as he is,” the new long-haired Shiro explains. The hand on his back is no longer the massive Altean palm, but the dark metal of the Galra version. “We’re both Shiro.” 

“I don’t understand,” Keith confesses. 

Shiro sighs. “It’s a little hard to explain.” He nods towards the other Shiro, his silver hair short in Shiro’s newest hairstyle, his Altean arm wrapped securely around Keith’s waist. “I’m me,” Shiro says, gesturing to his other self, then presses his other hand to his chest. “I’m also me.”

“You didn’t kill me, Keith,” the other Shiro cuts in gently, stepping closer, his fingers slotting between Keith’s knuckles as he intertwines their hold, squeezing. He smiles at Keith, something hopeful glowing in his eyes. “You didn’t shove me out when you had me returned to my body.” 

“I—” Keith hiccups. 

“We’re— we combined, I guess,” the white-haired Shiro clarifies, gently. “When Allura returned me to my body, there were two consciousnesses here. Instead of forcing one out or one to become the true Shiro, we just… meshed.” He glances at his other self, as if to confirm he’s explaining correctly, and shrugs helplessly. “I’m me.” 

Keith tries to wrap his head around the idea, his heart thundering to life in his chest— beat after beat, staring at the two Shiro before him. 

“We’re not really separate here, either,” the second Shiro explains, nodding to the other Shiro. “This is just so you can _see_. It’s me. It’s us.”

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, cupping Keith’s face, tipping his chin up so their eyes meet. “I hate that you’ve been carrying this for so long.” 

“I—” Keith hiccups again, but no more words come. He studies Shiro’s face then darts his glance over to the other Shiro, too, assessing him. Trying to make sense of it. 

It makes as much sense as it can, at least. Two Shiro, maybe, but really just one consciousness— meshed together. Connected. 

“I brought you here so you could see,” Shiro tells him. He strokes his thumbs over Keith’s cheeks, the thumb on Keith’s right cheek following the downward slope of his scar. 

It sends electricity prickling down Keith’s spine. He gulps down a breath and closes his eyes. He feels Shiro withdraw from him— no longer touching him, giving him space to breathe and process. But the emptiness of the astral plane feels like too much without Shiro’s grounding touch. 

He must make a sound. His distress must be clear still and Shiro’s always been so attuned to him. Shiro’s always been too good at reading him. 

When Keith starts to tremble, Shiro is there— two sets of hands touching him, grounding him. A hand cups his shoulder. Another his hip. One takes his hand. The other curves around the back of his neck, tethering him. 

Keith opens his eyes, seeking Shiro’s— and he’s there, of course he’s there. His dark hair frames his face, but it’s the same smile, the same soft gaze in his eyes as he looks at Keith. Like Keith is _everything_.

Keith can only ever be comforted by the way Shiro looks at him.

He turns his head and finds Shiro there, too, silver hair dusting his forehead, his smile that same, familiar curve. 

Keith’s spent so many nights memorizing Shiro in all shapes, in all forms. He knows him blind. He knows him with every inch of his soul. 

Keith’s always known this about Shiro— that it’s Shiro, always, cloned or otherwise. It was always Shiro. It was Shiro who smiled at him before the Kerberos launch, cupping his chin and pressing a kiss to his forehead. It was Shiro who crashed back on Earth, staring down at his clenched, metal hand without memory, not even startling when Keith touched his shoulder and welcomed him home. It was Shiro who cupped his hips after his Trial, bandaging him up and whispering his devotion against Keith’s feverish skin. It was Shiro who kissed him goodbye before Keith rescinded his leader status to join the Blades. It was Shiro who stared down at Keith after Keith cried, _I love you_ , breaking through his mind control. It was Shiro who woke up in Keith’s arms and whispered, _I was dreaming—_

Keith feels the tears collecting again, embarrassed that he’s cried twice in one evening when he normally has much better control of everything. Maybe he’s always been a livewire, though. Maybe even spitfires need to cry sometimes. 

This is all a relief, yes, but also just an overwhelming sort of centering cresting over him in waves. He trembles and Shiro is there— both of him— touching Keith, steadying him, hands on his ribs, his hip, his back, his cheek. 

“Sorry,” Keith hisses out, mortified, as the tears well up in his eyes. “Fuck, I usually—”

“Baby,” one Shiro murmurs. “It’s okay.” 

“Sweetheart,” the other says and presses a kiss to his temple. “Keith.”

“Fuck,” Keith cries. He can’t fight it back and the tears spill down his cheeks. He clenches his eyes shut— overwhelmed, relieved, heartbroken. 

It’s too much. 

But Shiro is there. They surround him, one pulling Keith into his arms and the other pressing against his back, sandwiching him. It’s profoundly comforting, to feel Shiro all around him. 

That’s what Keith always wants— to have Shiro everywhere with him. Curled around him at night as they sleep, his arm slung around Keith’s shoulder as they walk, being so deep inside Shiro when they have sex that he feels anchored to him or lying out blissfully on the mattress with Shiro’s come still inside him, still part of him. Waking in the morning and nosing against Shiro’s sleep-warmed skin or licking his lips despite the morning breath. Feeling the gentle silk of Shiro’s hair as they shower together or the scratch of his leg hair against the back of Keith’s calf as he hooks behind his knee and drags him in closer. The luxurious feeling of Shiro’s hands closing around Keith’s waist and how it makes him feel both small and powerful, watching Shiro’s eyes darken with desire. 

It’s a lot like this, too. Shiro holds him from both sides, arms curled around him protectively. He feels one Shiro press their foreheads together and the other nose into his hair, lips pressing to the spot just behind his ear. There are hands on his chest and hands on his back. 

Keith tries to steady his breathing— and it occurs to him that if he just calms down, he’ll be fine, he’s on the astral plane and does he even really need to breathe?— but being near Shiro is so centering, being surrounded by Shiro is profoundly comforting. 

He feels himself relax for what feels like the first time in centuries. He sinks into Shiro’s steady arms, feeling like he might just sink into them completely, like he might be absorbed by them, too. 

“Is it okay, Keith?” the Shiro behind him asks, his lips ghosting over his ear. 

“Are you alright?” the other asks. 

Keith nods, shivering in their arms. “Don’t let me go.”

They both chuckle. Softly, one whispers, “ _Never._ ” 

“You’re really here,” Keith whispers, embarrassed still, but the tears slowly drying. It’s left him feeling wrung out. Maybe Shiro has the right idea holding him up. He subtly— or not so subtly— rubs his face against Shiro’s chest and doesn’t feel guilty that he’s smearing his tears on his sleep shirt. 

“I am,” both Shiro say together. This time, it’s nearly enough to get Keith to laugh— if he didn’t feel so emotionally raw, maybe he would, listening to the dual-sound of Shiro’s voice washing over him, precious and familiar and _his._ Both of them. 

“I thought— I thought you were _gone_ ,” Keith murmurs. 

“I know,” the Shiro in front of him whispers, nose brushing his, the whisper of his breath brushing across his mouth. 

When Keith opens his eyes, the Shiro in front of him is the long-haired one, black and white hair tumbling in little waves to frame his face, his smile sweet and eyes cautious as he looks at Keith back, studying him for any distress, wanting to treat him kindly. And, god, Shiro always treats him kindly. 

“What do you want to do now, Keith?” he asks.

Keith manages a smile now— not forced, but almost shy. “Just hold me?” 

“I can do that,” Shiro says behind him, tightening his hold on him, his hands pressing over his chest, feeling for the steady beat of Keith’s heart. 

“Let me take care of you,” the other Shiro agrees, eyes warm. Keith gazes up into them. “I— er, we? Is that easier if I say ‘we’?” 

Keith shakes his head, barely, not wanting to dislodge either Shiro from where they press against his skin, anchoring him. “I know it’s you.” 

“Okay,” they both murmur. One Shiro nuzzles his jaw and whispers, “Let me take care of you, Keith.” 

Keith hiccups, something warm and light bursting to life inside his chest. That’s always been Keith and Shiro’s way, too— they take care of each other. Shiro’s hands on him are gentle, secure. Shiro looks at him like he’s precious because he _is_ precious to Shiro. 

And Keith? Keith knows all the ways he’d cross the universe to protect Shiro, in turn. It’s easy to sink into his hold, to know that he is surrounded and sheltered. 

“Do you have questions, Keith?” Shiro asks. 

Keith hums, sinking into the warm embrace of the man he loves. He nuzzles against his neck, his mouth ghosting across his throat, feeling the hum of his voice, the hush of his breath. Shiro, here, in his arms. Shiro, all around him. 

“Do you… think of yourself as before and after?” 

“No,” Shiro admits. “It’s not as simple as that. Once a consciousness combines, you can’t separate it again. It’s like…” He pauses, trying to think of a way to describe it. “It’s like trying to separate two liquids once they’ve been mixed together. You can pour them into two glasses, but it’s still the same drink.” 

“Okay,” Keith considers.

“Here,” both Shiro say and then they flicker from sight. Keith’s heart leaps, terrified, but when he whips around again, Shiro’s standing there— just one Shiro, black-haired and without the Galra upgrade or the Altean upgrade. Shiro, like the night before the Kerberos launch. He laughs when Keith’s eyes bug out. “See?” he asks Keith. “Still me. Still both of us, but… yeah.” He shrugs. “Like I said, I like the white hair.”

“You look like a silver fox,” Keith agrees, something he said once on the ride back to Earth because he knew it’d make Shiro laugh. “You really are an old timer.”

“Exactly,” Shiro laughs and lets Keith dart into his space. 

Shiro sighs when Keith reaches up, threading his fingers into Shiro’s hair, feeling the soft silk of it, all of it black. Shiro’s face is unscarred, handsome and so young looking— it’s a wonder to Keith that Shiro ever looked so young; he’d always seemed larger than life. 

Shiro admits, “I don’t really see myself like this anymore, though.”

“No,” Keith agrees, scrubbing his fingers along the soft buzz of Shiro’s undercut. “It’s… you’re different from then.” 

Shiro nods, his smile turning sad. “I think it’s fair to say I’m not the same Shiro who left for Kerberos.” 

“Shiro—” 

“No,” Shiro interrupts, gently, cupping Keith’s hips. “It’s okay. I mean, you aren’t the same Keith who was left behind, either.” 

Keith’s heart swells up. That much is true. So much has happened in the time before Kerberos’ launch. He remembers that last night, the two of them together, watching the stars. That much, maybe, is the same. But Keith can think back on that time together and marvel at how they were _both_ young, carefree and innocent in a way they never can be again. 

Shiro’s thumb traces the shape of Keith’s scar, the movement slow and melancholy. 

“We all came back different,” Shiro murmurs, smiling— with just that whisper of sadness in his eyes, a shadow that Keith still can’t quite banish away, no matter how hard he tries. 

Not that Keith doesn’t understand that much. “I know. How could we not?” 

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees. 

They stay like that, letting the silence wash over them. It feels necessary, to acknowledge the time that’s stretched behind them, mourning the people they once were but are no longer. After a beat of that stillness, Keith looks up at Shiro. 

Shiro notices Keith’s eyes on him, tipping his chin back down to meet his gaze and smiling at him— the gentle, young face of a Shiro long gone. Keith reaches his hand up, brushing the black hair away from his forehead. Strange, to think that this face is both familiar and foreign, the man he first fell in love with before they both grew. 

“I’m sorry,” Keith admits. “I should have said something earlier. I—” 

“No,” Shiro tells him, smiling still. “I knew something’s been on your mind the last few months. I thought you’d tell me when you were ready, but I should have realized…”

“It isn’t your fault, Shiro,” Keith murmurs. He lifts his hand, cupping Shiro’s cheek. 

Shiro’s smile shifts, and slowly his appearance changes, rippling away— his hair growing out long again, the forelock bleaching white. The scar drags across his nose in a blink, not there and suddenly appeared. His hands are warm when they cup Keith’s hips, both metal and human. 

Keith laughs, something punching up from his throat. He swipes his thumb gently over Shiro’s cheek, touching him, and smiles up at him. It’s almost nostalgic to see him like this— the living, breathing proof that he’s _still here_. 

He hadn’t realized how completely the knowledge of his failure had been weighing him down. He feels lighter, staring into Shiro’s eyes, knowing that it’s him. That he’s here. All of him. 

Keith realizes he’s floating about two seconds after it starts happening. He blinks in surprise as he rises up, nearly losing his hold on Shiro. “Wha—” 

Shiro laughs, punched out and bright, catching his hands and keeping him from floating away. “Whoa, come back, baby.” 

Keith blushes, nearly falling back down to the flat, rippling surface of the astral plane. But Shiro’s hold on him is sure, certain in the way he cups Keith’s palm and keeps him there, bobbing along like a balloon. 

Keith gives Shiro a puzzled look. Shiro shrugs. “It’s the astral plane, Keith. Once you know how it works, you can kind of make anything you want happen.” 

He takes a breath, then, and a moment later joins Keith— floating up off the surface. They hang in the sky, suspended, Shiro’s hair coiling around him like a halo as he smiles at Keith. 

“Want it to be just me? Or both of ‘us’?” Shiro asks, tilting his head. 

Keith blushes deeper when he admits, “Um. Both of you.” 

“Okay,” Shiro says, like Keith hasn’t requested something selfish. He accepts it easily. 

He holds tight to Keith’s hand and tugs him along. They bob through the sky like that, floating, weightless and serene— like a cloud, like a balloon, like a wisping dandelion seed caught on the wind. It’s such a strange, wonderful feeling to be weightless. The world falls away. 

Shiro draws him in and, as Keith’s chest presses to his, Keith feels the change— feels Shiro split into two Shiro, both of them holding him, cradling him between their bodies. Floating like this, unhinged by gravity, Keith feels Shiro tumble around him in dual form, circling him like Saturn’s rings, their arms sure and secure around Keith’s body. It’s so profoundly comforting that Keith nearly wants to start crying again. 

He looks up and both Shiro are smiling at him, silver-haired and long-haired, both of them with that same soft expression, like Keith is a marvel. Keith never wants to stop feeling like he’s everything in Shiro’s arms. 

“This better?” one Shiro asks him. 

Keith nods, nuzzling into his shoulder. He feels four hands upon him and it’s astoundingly soothing, each point of contact nearly too much. He wishes that Shiro could touch him everywhere. He wishes it could be so easy for him to combine and overlap with Shiro like this— two glasses of water poured together, mixed together, never to be separated again. 

One Shiro kisses his temple and noses into his hair. He feels the other’s breath upon his jaw, just cuddling him. It’s enough for Keith to go boneless, loose and relaxed and protected. He’s not weighted down anymore. He has the person he loves most in the world here with him, holding him close, his arms wrapped around him. 

It’s comfortable, to float like that. He’s weightless but buoyed by Shiro. They swirl through the astral plane together, coiled up and protected. Keith almost feels comfortable enough to sleep, to just black out and let the world drift him away. It’s much like floating through the emptiness of space or lying on his back on the water, letting a river sweep him away. 

He opens his eyes and finds Shiro looking at him. He reaches up, touching the cheek of one of them, his fingers hooking under his jaw. He brushes aside the long wisps of his hair and feels the curve of Shiro’s smile plumping up his cheek against Keith’s palm. 

It’s the comfort that fuels Keith upwards, slanting his mouth against Shiro’s— kissing him slow and careful. There’s something like apology in it— a questing reassurance that he hasn’t failed him, not really, that he’s alive and here and thriving with him. 

Shiro’s hand falls to his hip, guiding him in closer, their chests flush together as he kisses Keith back with unbearable sweetness. It’s exactly like it’s always been, kissing Shiro. Slow, purposeful, sweet at first but always with the promise to turn dirtier. For now, though, Shiro is careful, kissing Keith’s mouth gently, worshipful, lips pressing first to the center of his mouth, then each corner, nuzzling closer. 

_Shiro._

Keith hates that he wants to cry again. He’s tired of feeling quite so pathetic. Keith breaks the kiss, feeling a little dizzy and uncertain. He looks up into Shiro’s handsome face, then glances over towards the other white-haired Shiro, who watches them both. 

Something like anxiety squirms in Keith’s chest, overwhelmed. 

“Sorry,” Keith mutters, glancing at the white-haired Shiro with a frown.

That Shiro just sighs, a smile tucked into the corner of his mouth. “You’re kissing me, too, Keith. I mean. Technically, you are. It’s okay.”

“This feels like a headache,” Keith mutters. He dips his head, hiding it in Shiro’s chest and feeling the rumble of his laughter, rippling up like a thunderstorm. 

“Nothing a guy likes to hear more than ‘kissing you is a headache,’” Shiro teases lightly and flashes a grin when Keith glares up at him. “What?” Shiro asks. “It’s true.” 

Keith snorts, turning his face away to hide his amused smile. “Please.” 

Shiro grins wider and with a flip of his white hair falling in his eyes, he dips down and kisses Keith, too. It’s the same kiss— slow, sensual, and breathtaking. He licks into Keith’s mouth when Keith opens to him and breathes out, just barely managing to hold back a small keen. 

Keith pulls away, flushing despite himself, his smile shy as he ducks his head again, hiding in Shiro’s shoulder, nearly getting a mouthful of his long hair for his troubles. 

Shiro rubs his back, soothingly. 

“This is kind of nice,” Shiro decides.

“Hm?” 

“Well, now I get to hold you twice as much,” Shiro decides, pushing his hair from his face and rolling onto his back. The other Shiro follows, lying out beside his other self, and together they tug Keith up so that he’s sprawled out across both of their chests. 

It should be undignified, but it just makes Keith feel warm all over, ears turning pink as his hands ghost across their chests, settling over both their beating hearts. 

“Baby,” Shiro coos at him, smiling at him. “You’re being sappy.”

“Shut up.” Keith feels his blush deepening. “You’re the one who just said you get to hold me twice as much now, so look who’s talking.” 

Shiro should know at this point that Keith is always going to be completely transparent to him. 

Shiro hums out, his eyes soft. “Sap.” 

“Didn’t I say shut up?” 

Just to, indeed, shut Shiro up, Keith leans in to kiss one first and then the other, both kisses fleeting but edging with promise. But his task to quiet them is a failure: as he kisses one, the other just keeps chuckling all soft and delighted. 

Really, Keith can’t complain about that. If Shiro’s happy, that’s all that matters. If Shiro can laugh like that, joyful and undisguised, then Keith can live with being teased. He pulls back from the kiss with a soft breath, blinking his eyes open and gazing down into Shiro’s face. 

Shiro smiles back up at him. “If I didn’t know any better, Keith, I’d say you wanted a few more of us.” 

“Stop,” Keith mutters, blushing up to his ears. He presses his hands over Shiro’s eyes, shoving his long hair out of his face but blocking his view. He peeks a glare over towards the other Shiro, who’s still grinning at him. “Don’t look.” 

Shiro obediently covers his eyes with his Altean hand, his smile still damning. 

Keith grunts and leans in, kissing the Shiro beneath him anyway, biting at his bottom lip in what should be a stinging reprimand but just makes Shiro groan in appreciation. 

“You like this, huh?” the other Shiro whispers in his ear, mouth bumping against his jaw. It makes Keith gasp, nearly breaking the kiss from the Shiro beneath him. “Like having two of us so close to you?”

“Fuck,” Keith hisses against Shiro’s mouth. He draws back to look at the other Shiro helplessly. 

Shiro’s smile turns a touch apologetic around his tease. He kisses Keith’s cheek, lips dragging along the scarred edge of his skin. “Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “You’re everything.” 

Keith closes his eyes, trembling from the force of their words. “I wish…” 

“What?” 

“I wish I could be this close to you all the time. That I could always feel you,” Keith confesses. “Always know you’re okay. Always—” 

Shiro cups his chin and guides him away from the Shiro beneath him, instead leaning in to press a feather-soft kiss to his mouth. “Me too, baby.” 

“It’s okay, Keith,” Shiro beneath him agrees, petting the hair from Keith’s face when he glances back down at him. “But,” he says, the tease easing into his voice again. “Astral plane, remember?” 

“Hm,” Keith grunts, blushing. 

“Just imagine what it is you want,” Shiro offers. “Want ten of us taking care of you? Want me bigger… hold you in the palm of my hand?” 

Keith’s sure his face will never stop being red. He grunts, his mind flooding with images. “I just wanted— I just wanted you to hold me. I didn’t mean it in a— that sort of way.” 

“You don’t have to be shy,” Shiro assures him, petting his fingers through Keith’s hair. 

Keith gives him a withering stare. “You’re teasing me because you know what I like.” 

“A little,” Shiro agrees. 

But it’s true that Keith’s mind floods with possibilities— both innocent and less-than-innocent. For now, it’s blissful just to be held by Shiro, to be floating through a world of their own making. Shiro offers the image of multiple versions of him, all surrounding Keith, and it’s tempting. Or Shiro growing in size, dwarfing Keith. It’s a little overwhelming to think about. 

Keith shakes his head. That isn’t the point. None of that is the point. His body starts to tremble as he inches closer to both Shiro, wanting to surround himself with them, wanting to bury down into them and never emerge again. 

“You’re alive,” Keith whispers and his voice comes out hitching and broken.

It sobers both Shiro immediately. They reach for Keith and cradle him, holding him. One coos into his ear, soft and soothing, and the other runs his hands over him, petting him. Keith absolutely refuses to cry again, but the urge is there. He starts shivering, shaking down to his core. 

“You’re alive,” he says again, softer this time.

“I am,” Shiro murmurs. “You saved me, Keith. You saved me.”

Keith nods, biting back a pathetic whimper. “Shiro—” 

“Yes, sweetheart,” Shiro assures him, kissing his shoulder. “I’m here. I’m alive. You saved me. I’m here because of you.” 

Really, all Keith wants is for Shiro to touch every inch of him. He wants to be surrounded by Shiro, always. He never wants to be without him again, never wants to know that feeling of emptiness, bereft and longing. 

“ _Shiro_ ,” Keith whispers and refuses to cry. It’s wobbling in his voice, though. 

“Without you,” Shiro answers, “I wouldn’t be here. I owe everything to you.” 

Keith’s breath comes out in a short, stuttering hiccup.

Shiro soothes him, holding him close. Keith doesn’t know how long they stay like that, anchored to each other, Shiro doing his best to reassure Keith. Keith isn’t unhappy anymore, far from it. It’s only relief he feels, only delight. Shiro is here. All of Shiro. All of him here, with Keith. 

He can only ever be happy about that, to hold proof of Shiro’s strength. That he’s alive. Here. 

All Keith wants is to feel him like this forever, feel him on every inch of his skin. Surrounded in him, buried in him. Only Shiro and Keith, together, in the entire universe. 

Floating like that, four hands upon him, Keith feels the moment when there’s a near surrounding pressure, as two more hands brush over his sides. It makes Keith shiver with the softest mewl. 

But Shiro’s laughing beneath him, breaking the heavy atmosphere with one little chuckle. “ _Wow,_ Keith.” 

At first, Keith thinks he’s teasing him for the sound. But when he opens his eyes and sees— well. 

There are tentacles. 

Keith isn’t sure how to process that. But he isn’t given much of a chance before the extra limbs wrap around Keith and pin him down against both Shiro’s chests. 

They’re almost beautiful, the tentacles: they’re made of starlight, like projections of the astral plane itself condensed into living vines. They’re a deep, velvety purple, sprinkled with stars. They coil through the air, blending in, almost like the night itself. They drape over one Shiro’s shoulders, the other around his waist, accenting them. 

It makes sense. Shiro’s always been made of starlight. He was always made for the stars. 

“Wow, Keith,” Shiro says again as he noses at Keith’s jaw. The tentacles wrap around Keith in a loose hold, encompassing and encircling, but not crushing. 

“They’re not mine!” Keith protests.

“Yeah, no, they’re mine,” Shiro agrees, tilting his head. “But pretty sure you’re the reason why they’re here.” 

Keith sputters. “I don’t—” 

Shiro shrugs, cups Keith’s cheeks, and kisses him. The tentacles coil and tighten around Keith, bringing him in closer. Keith whimpers into the kiss as the other Shiro ducks his head and kisses Keith’s neck, dragging his lips gently and nuzzling. 

“Keith summoned tentacles,” Shiro teases in his ear, his voice singsong and unrelenting. 

Keith grunts, breaking the kiss with the other Shiro to glare instead. Both Shiro laugh at him, delighted. There are more tentacles now, looping around Keith, cradling him close. It should be embarrassing but Keith can admit that there’s something soothing about being surrounded like this and. Oh. That’s the point. 

“Oh fuck,” Keith groans. “I _did_ summon them, didn’t I?” 

He’s cradled in starlight, every inch of his body touched by Shiro. 

“Looks that way, baby.” 

Keith groans, mortified. He has no idea how a desire to have Shiro close, to feel Shiro on every inch of him, manifests as _tentacles._

“What the fuck,” Keith says, with deep feeling. It makes both Shiro bark out surprised laughs. Keith ducks his head, blushing bright tomato red. “What the fuck! I summoned tentacles!” 

“It wasn’t just you,” Shiro assures him. 

Keith gives him a withering look, trying not to focus on the way the tentacles shift and shiver over his skin. “What, you thought to yourself, ‘wow I wish I had a tentacle or two right now’?” 

He starts to float away, embarrassment making him buoyant like a wayward balloon, but the tentacles hold him tighter, drawing him back in to anchor against Shiro. 

Shiro laughs again and kisses Keith’s forehead once he’s dragged in, his lips lingering against Keith’s flushed skin. “I was thinking I want to hold you closer. Forever.” 

“Oh,” Keith says in a quiet voice, his entire face bright red undoubtedly. But now there’s something warm and squirming twisting up in his chest as he looks at Shiro’s shy, sweet smile. The words work well to instantly soothe him, to make him feel absorbent and bright. 

Shiro pets Keith’s hair away from his face, one of him ducking to kiss him again and the other to press a gentle kiss to his shoulder and then his neck. The tentacles curl around Keith again, pushing him into a different position across their chests, sandwiched between them as he kisses one, shivering at the attentions of the other. 

One tentacle coils around his thigh. It makes Keith shiver. He breaks the kiss to glance over his shoulder at the tentacles as they wrap and twist around him. He bites his lip. 

“I feel like this should feel weirder than it does,” Keith admits and blushes. “You’re not reading my mind, are you?”

“No?” Shiro laughs. “I just know you, Keith.” 

“You pervert,” the other Shiro teases, eyes twinkling. When Keith pouts at him, he just winks. “ _This_ is what you make when you have the full expanse of the astral plane before you?” 

“It’s not—” 

“I shouldn’t be surprised. I still remember those vids you had at the Garrison, the ones with the—” 

“Oh my god,” Keith squawks, covering his face. He hasn’t thought about his unfortunate porn collection since leaving Earth. “Stop trying to embarrass me, Shiro!” 

That makes Shiro laugh and the sound of his laugh in tandem washes over Keith. It’s pleasant, glowing. It pools in Keith’s gut and zips very quickly southward. One tentacle curls around his wrist and tugs it away from his face— Keith stares into Shiro’s sunny expression and it gives Keith that mix of embarrassment and elation. 

Keith squirms, and absently kicks his foot out to nudge at one of the Shiro’s hips, teasing and without any true heat. Gravity shifts and shimmers, everything twisting around Keith. The tentacles loosen their hold on Keith enough that he can feel how easily he floats, how both Shiro dip and dive around him, trailing with him through the cosmic sky. 

Shiro catches his ankle with one of the tentacles, pulling it away so he can slide his hands up Keith’s legs instead, fingertips tracing along the curve of Keith’s thighs. When Keith shoots him another half-hearted glare, Shiro just smiles at him, all dimples and sweetness. He curls around, cupping Keith’s face. 

“I’m pretty sure you’ve had a dream like this before,” Shiro teases, tentacles soothing and squeezing over Keith’s body. “Me and tentacles.” 

“I have not,” Keith denies, blushing bright red. “Go back to reassuring me instead of teasing me.” 

“You like being teased,” the Shiro behind him says and Keith huffs, shooting him a betraying look. 

“Maybe,” Keith mutters. It’s true that he feels more relaxed like this, despite his mortification. Less doom and gloom and questions of mortality and more delight in having Shiro’s steady touch against his body— all of him, hands and tentacles and all. 

“You can’t pretend it’s not giving you ideas.”

Keith wonders if he can will the astral plane to stop making it so obvious he’s blushing. 

Embarrassing. 

“But I really feel I should clarify that I didn’t bring you here for sex,” Shiro murmurs, strangely earnest as his thumbs ghost across Keith’s cheeks. 

Keith rolls his eyes. “Yeah, whatever. You’re such a gentleman.” 

Shiro laughs again, a luxurious sound that slides through Keith’s entire body, flooding him with warmth. It feels good to tease like this, to be petulant and silly. 

“Come on, spitfire,” Shiro soothes, smiling. “It’s not like you to get shy.” 

“Or,” the other Shiro says, running his hand over Keith’s thigh, floating above him now. “We can go back to cuddling, too.” 

Keith grumbles. He won’t deny that he’s a young man with a healthy interest in knowing all the things he and Shiro can get up to. Truthfully, opportunities for sex had been few and far between with Shiro during the war— either on the Castle, in Black, or on the Atlas. It’s always rewarding to get to spend hours just learning Shiro’s body. 

Also, well. Tentacles. Apparently Keith’s mind has different plans from Keith’s own demurring. 

“Or, you know.” Shiro shrugs, casually, something glinting in his eyes. “If you _really_ don’t want it, I can go and fuck myself instead. Maybe you want to watch.” 

Shiro starts laughing again at that and Keith scoffs, rolling his eyes. “That’s a stupid joke.” 

“But I mean, literally,” Shiro says, grinning, boyish and sweet and _playful_. “Literally go fuck myself.” Keith fists his long hair and yanks, but it only makes Shiro laugh again, his eyes going a little molten at the sting of pain it must illicit. “Don’t pretend you wouldn’t like to see that.” 

Keith doesn’t answer because he knows that Shiro knows the answer, too. He refuses to give him the satisfaction. Shiro already knows just how devastating Keith finds him most of the time. 

“So?” Shiro asks him. He’s all twisted around, floating upside down so only their eyes are level. His tentacles trail over Keith’s spine teasingly. “How about it, Keith?” 

And really. Keith can’t go and say no to Shiro, much less two Shiro touching him. 

If Shiro wants a spitfire, he’ll get a spitfire. 

When Keith kisses Shiro again, it’s filthy. He fists his fingers tight in Shiro’s long hair and tugs him down, tongue diving into his mouth. Shiro gives a pleased groan, hands curling into Keith’s hair, his tentacles trailing over his body, accompanied by the other Shiro’s hands, too. 

Every inch of Keith is touched then, the tentacles looping easily around Keith’s wrists and ankles, not spreading him or tugging him, but just holding. A few stroke his sides, over his back. Shiro’s hands, sure and steady, touch first at his hair and then the back of his neck, down his arms, petting him. 

Keith’s trembling soon after, overwhelmed and focusing on the sensation of it all, of every piece of his body touched by Shiro. He keens a little when Shiro cups him through his pajama pants, and as soon as he wishes he didn’t have clothes on, they ripple and fade away. 

Well, the astral plane certainly has its perks. 

There’s something magical about kissing Shiro, having Shiro all around him. Shiro keeps finding new positions to coax himself into, floating around Keith like wayward stars. Gravity has no hold on them. They’re free. 

Keith’s beyond embarrassment now, not even caring when he bites down ruthlessly on Shiro’s lip and deepens the kiss, turning it filthier still. He’s a drag of teeth and tongue and lips. He feels Shiro’s rush of breath, the barely pitched moan as Keith licks into his mouth. He can feel the way Shiro’s responding, can feel how he’s responding in turn. 

Keith groans as Shiro curls his hand around Keith’s cock, stroking him gently. The tentacles around his wrists squeeze and then slide up, tracing over the lines of Keith’s body, sweeping over him. 

“Shiro—” 

“Shh,” Shiro interrupts as the tentacles grip him tighter and start manhandling Keith. They pull Keith’s hands away, not quite pinning him down mid-air, but keeping him aloft, arranging him the way both Shiro seem to want, their eyes dark and hungry as they watch Keith. 

“Stay just like that, sweetheart,” one murmurs, catching his hand and pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Let me take care of you.”

The other Shiro’s already moving closer, kissing the hollow of Keith’s throat and then moving down lower. It’s biting and promising, nearly overwhelming. “I’ll make you feel good, baby.” 

“I should be making _you_ feel good,” Keith protests, voice weak. Shiro’s always caring for him, always taking care of him— the least Keith could do is return the favor. 

Shiro shakes his head, though, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against the swell of Keith’s belly. His tongue licks, tasting his skin. His eyes glitter, peering up at him. “Let me prove to you I’m here. That I’m yours.” 

“Shiro, I already—” 

But Shiro takes Keith’s cock into his mouth and that effectively robs Keith of breath. Keith’s just a simple man and he’ll always shudder around the feeling of Shiro’s mouth on his cock, how completely Shiro can lay waste to him. 

The points of contact are nearly too much. Keith’s nowhere close to coming so soon, but it still feels like overstimulation, like every place he’s touched is heightened here in the astral plane. The tentacles coil and curl around him, stroking over his hypersensitive skin. They pull his legs apart to make room for Shiro to lick and suck at his cockhead. The other Shiro floats behind him, curling his arms around Keith’s chest and stroking his fingers down over his chest and belly. 

“This is nice,” Shiro murmurs behind him. “I can touch you here even when I’m sucking you off.” 

Keith tips his head back, groaning, and rocks his hips up into Shiro’s mouth. He feels Shiro’s fingers circling against his scalp, soothing him and touching him. He feels the lick and slide of Shiro’s tongue against the bottom of his cock, the soft pillow of his lips as they curl sweetly around Keith. 

Keith shivers, trembling in Shiro’s hold. 

The Shiro sucking on his cock runs his hand up over Keith’s belly, too, feeling him up. He swallows around Keith’s cock easily, mouth open and tongue curling along the underside, coaxing him in deeper. A tentacle curls around Keith’s waist and keeps him aloft, keeps him from fucking desperately into Shiro’s mouth. 

“Wait,” Keith gasps. 

“Mm?” Shiro hums, the vibrations pulsing down Keith’s cock. 

“I want…” Keith squirms against the tentacles, not with any true desire to break free— he had those videos for a reason, after all, and Keith can’t deny that the combination of two Shiro and tentacles is a lot in the best way possible.

One tentacle, smaller, squirming and twisting, nudges against Keith’s cock where Shiro’s lips can’t quite reach and it makes Keith gasp out. 

“Tell me what you want, baby,” Shiro murmurs behind him, kissing his jaw. Keith turns his head away from the Shiro sucking his cock and peers at the other Shiro instead, his white hair glowing beneath all the twinkling stars. 

“To… to feel you,” Keith murmurs, hips pressing up to follow Shiro’s mouth and the tentacle’s coiling touch. He tips his head so their foreheads connect. He nuzzles his nose against Shiro’s, desperately. “You. All of you.” 

“I know it’s the astral plane, Keith, but I can’t actually read your mind,” Shiro murmurs, kissing him sweetly. “Tell me what you want.” 

“I want you to fuck me,” Keith answers, bolder now. “And my mouth, too. Together.” 

Shiro’s eyes sparkle as the words register and the tentacles stroke with purpose over Keith’s skin. It’s the strangest sensation, nothing like hands, pulsating across his skin. It’s too much. They hold him and arrange him. They tumble through the air without friction, the tentacles holding him steady as Shiro moves around him. 

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Shiro promises him. 

This feels like a dream. The way time and space slides around him. How he might be pressed to Shiro’s chest one moment and the next, he’s stretched on his back, the tentacles all around him, pulling his legs apart, holding his hands up. They pin him in place, their hold gentle and soothing, one large tentacle holding him up, following the curve of his spine. 

Keith turns his head as Shiro floats beside him, stroking his fingers through his hair. Shiro’s also poised between his legs, running his palms over Keith’s thighs, using his tentacles to coil around Keith’s thighs and keep him anchored close, to keep him from floating too far away. That’s a dream, too, how Keith feels Shiro’s fingers push inside him and how Keith blooms open for him. There’s little need for prep but it feels like reassurance to have three of Shiro’s Galran fingers inside him, spreading and stroking, curling upright. It’s easy. It’s like coming home. 

Shiro is always welcomed inside Keith’s body. Keith never tires of feeling him, wants to always feel him. Shiro’s fingers crook inside him, stroking sweetly, and drags over his prostate enough to make Keith shudder. 

Shiro floats in and presses a kiss to his hip as he works Keith open with a few perfunctory strokes. “I could just fuck you, if you’d rather.” 

“Shiro,” Keith breathes. He turns his head, seeking the other Shiro, who cups his head and turns him, twisting him around with the tentacles’ help to get him in the right position. 

“Take it slow, beautiful,” Shiro murmurs to him but Keith’s hardly going to listen. 

The tentacles pin his hands, holding him aloft, so he has to use his mouth and his tongue only, has to spell his devotion to Shiro with the breath from his lungs, the slide of his lips. He swallows around Shiro’s cock, thick and full and beautiful against his tongue. 

And Keith loves sucking Shiro’s cock. He loves showing his dedication and love in this way, to feel the pleasant girth of him on his tongue, to feel himself choke around the perfect stretch of Shiro’s cock. 

Keith groans happily, swallowing around Shiro. He barely has time to tether himself to the feeling of Shiro’s cock in his mouth— a familiar, pleasant experience— when he feels Shiro push his legs up with the tentacles’ help and slide inside Keith, too. 

Keith groans, two cocks inside the welcoming arch of his body. He swallows around the one in his mouth and squeezes his body around the other. His thighs tremble. He hears Shiro groan above him, both of them, and the way they move as if in tandem. They stroke inside him, pushing upward.

Without a solid surface to rest upon, they bob around each other. Keith feels himself fold in half and then stretch luxuriously, the tentacles spreading and holding him steady, keeping him tethered to the slide of Shiro’s bodies on either end of him. 

It feels blissful. Too much, just on the edge of _never enough_. The tentacles slide over his body, holding him up, keeping him in position, supporting his head for him to fight the neck strain, holding his arms poised so his back bows, kept afloat by the tentacles curled along his back. He feels fully supported, like he’s in a nest, surrounded by the man he loves. 

Shiro cups his hips, stroking inside him with a few luxurious rolls of his hips. His eyes are dark as he looks at Keith and Keith manages a weak smile around the cock in his mouth before he looks up at the other Shiro, too, studying his face. 

Shiro pets his cheek and Keith feels the gesture mimicked by the tentacles, the way they stroke over his quivering stomach, his straining chest. They key along his ribs and slither over his hips. Keith wants to cry again, but not for any sort of pain or even relief, but just pure joy at being held like this, being touched, being loved. He’s surrounded by starlight; he’s surrounded by Shiro. 

“You’re doing good, baby,” Shiro assures him, stroking his hands over Keith’s chest as he fucks up into him, his cock so big and so full inside Keith. Keith whimpers around the other cock in his mouth, trying to rock his hips down. Anything is possible on the astral plane, but Shiro’s cock is already so pleasantly big, straining his jaw and splitting his hole open. 

The tentacles won’t let him move. Shiro chuckles above him, rocking his cock down Keith’s throat, no gag reflex there to stop him, and hums sweetly down at Keith. “We’ve got you, baby. Just relax. Enjoy yourself.” 

Keith tries to speak around the cock in his mouth but can’t manage it. He grumbles and licks at Shiro instead, suckling on the head until Shiro gets the hint and draws back enough to free his mouth. He can feel how swollen his lips are, red and stretched around Shiro— but Keith knows Shiro loves that. 

“Give me one of those,” Keith says, jerking his head towards one of the tentacles stroking over his chest, teasing at his nipples. 

Shiro’s eyes bug open comically. “Wow.” 

“Look,” Keith mutters, blushing up to his ears. “I did _not_ conjure up a bunch of tentacles so you’d _only_ hold me. There’s no way I’m not sticking one in my mouth at least once, okay?” 

He says it brazenly, aimed to make Shiro laugh— and it works. Shiro snorts out a delighted bark of amusement, his eyes twinkling. It’s the most beautiful sound in the world, always. 

The tentacles slide over Keith, smooth and coiling and sweet. They dance over his chest, dragging over his nipples in a way that can only make Keith groan, arching. Keith closes his eyes, just letting himself feel it— his body bows, the smooth silk of the tentacles dragging and pulling on his nipples, beading them. 

“Wow, Keith.” 

“You keep saying that,” Keith mutters. “Come on. Let me wow you.”

He fucks his hips down against the other Shiro’s cock and he ducks his head, groaning, hands flexing hard at his hips. Shiro rocks up then, thrusting into Keith with a brief abandon, rough and rattling. The three of them tumble through the air and Keith doesn’t feel disoriented, doesn’t feel overwhelmed. 

It’s everything. And he’s safe. He knows that. 

Keith squeezes around the cock inside him and says, “Could be a tentacle, too.” 

“Knew you were a pervert,” Shiro praises, sounding far too approving. He hovers at Keith’s head, laughing, and strokes his hand over his cock as he eases back, making space for a tentacle to slither through Keith’s hair, along his jaw. It strokes Keith’s cheek, not unlike one of Shiro’s hands.

Keith shoots him a coy look, then turns his head and licks at the tentacle. Keith can’t hold back his triumphant smile at the way it trembles against his lips. 

“You love me anyway,” Keith says, mouthing at the starlight tentacle, the cloudy dark of it. It tastes like Shiro’s skin, the way it feels to suck on Shiro’s fingers, to make him sloppy before he fingers inside Keith, before he mouths his devotion against Keith’s neck. 

Keith loves the way it feels, loves the way it tastes. He loves to know that he’s the one who can bring Shiro to the edge just from being who he is. Shiro might be larger than him, might be holding him down, but these moments always make Keith feel powerful. 

“I do,” Shiro agrees. 

“With everything I am, Keith,” the other Shiro murmurs. A tentacle tugs Keith’s leg up so Shiro can press a kiss to his ankle, then press open-mouthed kisses along his calf. 

It changes the angle. Keith groans sweetly as Shiro fucks into him. He stops groaning only once his mouth is stuffed full with the tentacle. It sinks in and Keith mewls, arching up and sucking on it like it’s Shiro’s cock. 

He doesn’t know which Shiro, exactly, this tentacle belongs to. But he watches both Shiro’s eyelids flutter at the sensation of it. The Shiro above him moans, squeezing his big hand around his cock. The other Shiro sighs, kissing Keith’s knee as he rolls his hips forward, fucking his cock inside Keith’s small hole. 

They move like that, then. Keith’s nearly bowled over by it— tentacles and hands touching him, sliding over him. Every inch of him, covered by Shiro. There’s a tentacle inside his mouth that Keith sucks on and it undulates, pulses against his tongue. It twitches much like Shiro’s cock does and it’s exactly like how Keith would imagine this would feel like. Between his legs, Shiro rocks into him, his movements precise. 

The tentacles feel like their own entities, dexterous and sure like Shiro’s hands, coiling and swirling and touching Keith with profound care. 

Before Keith can get settled into the feeling of it, though, the Shiro between his legs withdraws, pulling his cock out of Keith’s body. Keith cries out, ready to protest. 

“Shh,” Shiro assures him, shifting back, pulling Keith’s legs apart for the tentacle that eases between him, pushing inside him, filling him so fully and so completely like Shiro’s cock. 

The movement is seamless. He’s barely empty for a moment before he’s filled again. Keith sighs out, blissful, and rocks down around the tentacle. It swells, thick and pulsing inside him. It slinks and bends inside, nothing like a cock now— soft but rigid, yes, but also—

When it bends and strokes over his prostate, Keith squawks around the tentacle in his mouth, garbled and choking despite his distinct lack of a gag reflex. The tentacles around him quiver and slink around him more, holding him up, stroking over his sides, tracing his ribs, dragging pointedly over his nipples and his stomach and twisted around his cock, squeezing. 

Keith mewls, body shuddering through his pleasure. A tentacle fucks his hole and another fucks his mouth. And it’s Shiro’s dexterous fingers that slide through his hair, over his hole, feeling the stretch of it, petting the soft hair on his legs. 

The tentacle inside him strokes over his prostate again, again and again. It’s precise, twisted and bunching and filling Keith with such profound fullness. Keith shudders on each precise push inside him. The tentacle shifts and swells around him, moving unlike any fingers or cock. Keith mewls again, the sound punching out of him and involuntary. 

It’s a million different points of gentle sensation. It feels reverential, devotional and only for Keith. Keith lets himself fall into it. He trusts Shiro completely— trusts Shiro to take care of him.

And he does. How he does. He shudders at every point of contact. One Shiro has always been overwhelming for Keith, the way he always teases Keith, takes care of Keith. Now, it’s four hands upon him, two sets of lips, two cocks, too many tentacles to count. His vision swims with flickering starlight and the velvet softness of the astral plane, all around him and inside him. 

The tentacle twists and coils inside Keith, stroking over his prostate, hitting it with perfect precision now. Keith tries to cry out his warning, but he can’t manage with his mouth stuffed full. But the tentacle around his cock squeezes and, with one definitive stroke of the limbs all around him, Keith comes with a broken, pleased sob. 

He trembles his way through it. The tentacles stroke over him, touch him, support him. The one inside his ass keeps stroking and milking his prostate with such accuracy. The one inside his mouth strokes across his tongue and down his throat, nearly choking him again. The ones at his ribs tease over his nipples pointedly. Keith shudders. 

He doesn’t start crying again for any pain, but a few stray tears escape at the blissful, overwhelming feeling of completeness, all the pinpricks of sensation and touch rippling through his body. 

Shiro’s gentle hand wipes those tears away as they slide away from Keith. Shiro withdraws the tentacle from Keith’s mouth only so he can duck down and kiss him instead. He licks into his mouth, sucking gently on his bottom lip before gentling the kiss, cradling Keith close. 

Down near his cock, the other Shiro nuzzles and mouths at his trembling thighs. 

Even without the lack of gravity, Keith would feel weightless. His hair floats around him and he coils and swirls through the sky, Shiro there with him. Shiro is all around him, caging him in, keeping him anchored from floating away and never returning. 

Keith’s never felt so light. He feels like he’s light itself. 

“Want to keep going, sweetheart?” Shiro asks. “I can think of at least one other thing you’ll like.”

“Mm,” Keith murmurs, willing to accept anything and everything that Shiro can give him. “Show me.” 

He doesn’t need to say it twice. The tentacles push Keith upright, twisting him around, bending him through the air like this. A tentacle tugs on his leg, pushing it up to drape over one Shiro’s shoulder. They pull Keith’s arms away from him, arching him until he’s pressing back against the other Shiro’s shoulder. 

He’s sandwiched between them again, the tentacles stroking over his body, teasing at his hole and his ass, his thighs, his belly. Keith squirms, sensitive to the touch but unwilling to push it away entirely. It’s almost ticklish. 

“Good?” Shiro whispers in his ear. 

Keith nods, gazing at the other Shiro he can see head-on, his long hair definitely disheveled now. “I’m good.” 

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro sighs as he looks at him and the Shiro behind Keith chuckles, as if embarrassed. “I always think you’re so beautiful.” 

“What are you going to do to me to make me less pretty, huh?” Keith shoots back. 

Shiro scoffs, but instead of rising to the bait, his expression only gentles. The tentacles bring Keith up, pressing him to Shiro’s chest. Shiro curls his arm around him and nuzzles at his jaw. The stretch of his leg draped over his shoulder should hurt, but all it does is expose Keith further— and even without the astral plane’s assistance on making everything possible, Keith’s always been flexible. 

Shiro murmurs, “You’ll always be beautiful to me, Keith.” 

“Geez,” Keith whispers, heart thumping in his chest. He blushes. “You’re so—” He shakes his head. “God. I love you.”

“I love you, baby,” Shiro promises. Then he winks. “Want both of us to fuck you?” 

“Wh—” Keith’s brain short-circuits and he slaps Shiro’s shoulder. “Don’t be sweet and then say that right after it.” 

“I know you like it,” Shiro teases behind him, kissing the back of his neck. 

And Shiro always knew Keith far too well— and Keith can’t deny the way his body responds to the suggestion. He grunts and nods, then slumps forward into their hold.

“Fuck me,” Keith murmurs, accepting. He tilts his head back and sighs, trusting Shiro to organize him as need be. He twists and shifts, his body held up between the two Shiro. 

He feels one of Shiro’s cocks press against him and he breathes out, closing his eyes. He arches, waiting for the penetration. 

“You know,” Shiro tells him, kissing the corner of his mouth, then the inside of his knee where it drapes over his shoulder. “It’s going to stretch. Unless you don’t want it to.” 

Keith blushes. He’s not about to put to voice just how much he likes Shiro’s size, how even just one cock is enough to make him stretch. He feels it now, the way Shiro’s cockhead teases at his rim, tugging and pulling and playing at pushing in deeper. He likes it when Shiro fucks him slow and careful, stretching him open, pumping him full and staying inside him afterwards. He likes when Shiro fucks into him multiple times, makes him sloppy with come, his rim pink and soft enough for Shiro to push in again and again. 

He loves the stretch of it all. He loves feeling Shiro long after he’s soft inside him or when he pulls away again. He loves sinking into Shiro’s hold and being surrounded by him, massive but gentle, huge hands on him, but so protective. Never hurting Keith. 

Keith used to hate seeming small. But he doesn’t mind it with Shiro, never minds how easily Shiro can hold him, how he can make Keith feel so full, so powerful. 

Shiro slides his hips up, sinking his cock inside Keith. Keith groans, head tipping back and gasping as he stares up at the starlight sky. 

Shiro stays still like that, letting Keith adjust to the size of one cock inside him, as if Keith ever needs reminders of what that feels like. He sighs, already perfectly relaxed. The tentacles at his chest stroke over his nipples, sending pulses of pleasure shuddering down Keith’s spine.

“Shiro,” he goads. “Fuck me.” 

Shiro chuckles. “Well. How can I refuse if I’m so politely invited…?” 

Keith loves that about Shiro, too— how easily he can tease Keith, how sweet and boyish and ridiculous he can be. Shiro knocks his fist gently against Keith’s belly, as if literally knocking on a door for permission to enter, but Keith grunts and wriggles his hips down, wanting to feel the shape of Shiro’s second cock inside him. 

He’s never really thought about it before— what it would feel like to have two of Shiro inside his body, emptying inside him, filling him. 

When Shiro eases his cock inside Keith alongside the first one, Keith cries out happily. It bursts out of him, unrestrained. Shiro fucking him always feels like it goes on forever, like the slide and swell of it will never end. Keith loves it. He knows he could ease it for himself more, could will his body to stretch and bend and accommodate. But there’s something so pleasant about the way he widens, the pressing strength of Shiro inside him. He imagines a tentacle slinking in alongside them and it makes Keith shudder. 

“Ah,” Shiro says, smiling, understanding. His white hair falls into his eyes as he ducks over Keith’s shoulder, watching the flex of Keith’s leg over the other Shiro’s shoulder. “He likes the stretch.” 

“Of course he likes the stretch,” Shiro says before Keith, his hands running up Keith’s chest, cool metal and warm palm together. He gives Keith a wicked smile and winks. “Our baby’s so limber.” 

“Fuck,” Keith says, with deep feeling. It’s both Shiro and he _knows_ they’re only saying this aloud, conversing with one another, so that Keith can hear. They’re teasing him. His leg flexes where it drapes over Shiro’s shoulder, as Shiro presses in closer, nuzzling at the other side of Keith’s neck alongside himself. 

And then they start fucking into Keith, perfect precision and the stretch far too full. Shiro’s cock inside Keith always feels like a revelation— but two of them is _perfect_. Keith feels like he’s being worshipped. They stroke up into him and Keith’s body bursts with fireworks and sparkles. He feels like he’s the one full of stars. 

Keith gives a delighted shout, body bowing. But both Shiro hold him steady, easing him down against their cocks. Keith stretches and stretches and feels like the sinking of the cocks inside him goes on forever. 

Both of Shiro move like that, filling Keith. The stretch is so much, might be too much in any sort of real capacity outside the astral plane, but here, Keith’s body is _made_ to take Shiro. And he does. 

Keith was made for Shiro. Keith has always known that. 

He fucks his hips down, sinking down around the two cocks. They stretch him open, leave him quivering. He knows what he must look like, body poised and pulled open, his rim stretched obscenely over the two cocks, his body trembling and flushed red. He moans, pawing at Shiro, trying to feel him more, trying to touch him. But then the tentacles tug on his hands again, holding him open and exposed. He can do nothing but let Shiro care for him.

And he does. He fucks inside Keith in a steady pace, one Shiro stroking in and the other stroking out, and then vice versa. The friction is blissful, the stretch obscene. Keith cries out, whimpering, already chasing another orgasm. 

The tentacles hold him and pulse over him, shifting him around. Both Shiro shift inside him, steady and sure, orbiting him as they fuck into him. Without gravity to hold them down, they shift and move at different angles, bracketing Keith. 

Keith shudders in Shiro’s arms. The tentacles stroke over him. One squirms into his mouth again and Keith mewls out, keening as he suckles on the tentacle, pretending that it’s Shiro’s cock, slinking his tongue over him, twisting and corkscrewing with blissful moans, his mouth stretched wide to accommodate the thickness. 

He stares into Shiro’s eyes as he sucks on the tentacle, broadcasting what he’d do with his cock, too. He licks and laps across the tapered end of the tentacle, swallowing around it and coaxing it deeper and deeper still inside him. He wants every inch of him filled with Shiro. He wants to wake up always feeling Shiro. Every inch of him— it belongs only to Shiro. Always. 

He swivels his hips, fucks himself down onto Shiro. Shiro is there to meet him, the cocks striking up inside him, filling him, stretching him. That they can move so easily, the angle precise, is purely for the way they float through this cosmic sky, unweighted by gravity. 

Keith twists and moves, seeking new angles, and they twirl together. Shiro follows Keith, like comets called back home into a sun’s orbit. They fuck into Keith and Keith sighs, trembling, rolling onto his side and coaxing one tentacle to tug his leg up, splitting him wider. Nothing inside him aches, no strange angles pressing down against gravity and the ground. 

They’re the stars themselves. Keith has no idea which way is up, which is down. It’s just them and the astral plane. 

It’s just them. 

“Fuck,” Keith gasps, turning his head, his hair floating around his panting mouth. 

Keith quakes his way into orgasm then— Shiro fucks into him, and the tentacles stroke over his hypersensitive skin, and it’s all too much. Keith shouts out around the tentacle in his mouth, back arching, and comes in shiny stripes across his stomach. He shudders his way through it, the orgasm cresting over him abruptly and leaving him trembling in its wake. 

But Shiro is there to hold him. His hands and tentacles press over him, holding him aloft. 

“Inside me,” Keith pants, voice all graveled out. 

And Shiro, of course, obeys him— always does, in the end, always gives Keith exactly what he asks for. They fuck harder into Keith, his body rocking and writhing in their arms. But eventually he feels one cock pulsing and the other twitching after it, and Keith feels himself flood with warmth as Shiro empties inside him. 

Keith’s never felt so full. He sighs out, slumping into their arms. He lets Shiro hold him. It’s all he needs. It’s all he’s ever going to need. 

Afterwards, once Shiro slips out of him again, Keith doesn’t even have time to feel empty. The tentacle slinks inside him again, stuffing him full and keeping him plugged up. The other tentacles curl around him, nestling him up against both Shiro. They stretch out, still floating through the sky like that. Shiro nuzzles at both his shoulders, two sets of lips caressing his skin. 

Keith sighs, sinking, and they tilt back together, rolling through the sky. In the wake of Shiro’s kisses, two points of sweet contact, Keith can only luxuriate. He wonders if it’s possible for the three of them to ever separate again. 

“Shiro,” he whispers, panting for air. 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Shiro vows. 

And Keith knows that. He feels it on every inch of his skin. The way Shiro surrounds him. The way Shiro always, always finds his way to him in the end. Keith will travel the universe to save him, every inch of him, and he’s here now. Touching over him, taking care of him. 

He’s not sure how long he floats like that, drifting in his headspace and feeling only the ripples of pleasure sliding through him. He’s not sure when he transitions out of the astral plane and back into the waking world, but he’s cosmically aware of the drape of the blankets around his hips, the press of the mattress rising against his spine, the warm bulk of Shiro curled into his side. 

Keith opens his eyes to their dark bedroom and can’t help the small shiver that erupts in the absence of so much touch and contact. But Shiro gathers him into his arms, cradling Keith close.

Keith breathes out and cups Shiro’s face with both hands. Shiro smiles back, thoughtful and fond. 

“I love you,” Keith murmurs before Shiro can question of Keith is alright, before he can even have a chance to doubt. “Thank you for showing me.” 

Shiro turns his head and presses a kiss against Keith’s palm. It feels different in the waking world, more physical. The touch alone makes Keith aware of how light he feels. He isn’t sore, but he still feels like he might ripple apart, like an after-image. 

“I love you, too, sweetheart,” Shiro whispers against his palm. He vows, “With everything I am. All of me.” 

And Keith knows it’s true. He leans in and catches Shiro’s mouth in a sweet kiss, absorbent and bright. Shiro’s nose presses into Keith’s cheek as he leans in closer and it’s achingly physical, proof of Shiro’s body and soul cupped in Keith’s hands. 

It’s an endless kiss, not just the two of them, but their souls ignited. It goes on forever and Keith could sink into it and never emerge again. It steals the breath from Keith’s lungs, his heart from his chest. If he were standing, he’d go weak-kneed. After spending so long in the astral plane with Shiro, Keith’s aware of every physical move his body makes, the scratch of his callused fingers against Shiro’s jaw, the hush of his breath ghosting Keith’s lips, the steady beat of his heart, the shift of their bodies on their silky sheets. 

Shiro kisses him and it’s slow, intimate, and full of the love Keith’s never doubted. It swells through Keith, making him feel buoyed once more. 

When they part to breathe again, Shiro’s fingers curl effortlessly in Keith’s hair, cradling him. 

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs, reverent and serene. “That was okay?” 

“Yeah,” Keith answers. 

He thinks he’s still processing it all, and the world is a little emptier now— Shiro can’t touch every inch of him like this. But Keith doesn’t despair, at least. He doesn’t feel any fear for that distance. 

“I guess this is what they mean by being ‘soul-tired,’” Keith laughs. He could ripple apart, he knows, but Shiro will always be here, all of him, to put him back together again. 

Shiro laughs. “Yeah, maybe.” 

Keith touches Shiro’s jaw, fingertips skimming across his skin. Alive. Here. With him. All of Shiro here, with Keith. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Shiro,” Keith tells him and Shiro’s eyes sparkle in the dark of their room. He pulls Keith in closer and kisses his jaw. It makes Keith laugh serenely and curl his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. 

“Me too. You saved me,” Shiro reminds him and this time, Keith listens. This time, Keith believes him.

He closes his eyes and sees stars.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject) (including the [LLF Comment Builder](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/commentbuilder)), which was created to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites and appreciates responses, including:
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